The Desperate Housemen Of Hogwarts
by Loverofnolight
Summary: George's relationship with Fred has been falling apart. Sexually frustrated and heartbroken, George embarks on a passionate, illicit love affair that will change the course of Hogwarts history. And break a few hearts, of course. This story's NOT for the squeamish. M for fantasy bestiality and pairings that should have never happened. Ever. Prompted by lafellana. Rate/Review! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

George Weasley was the type of person that you couldn't disassociate from his family. It must have been the red hair, freckles, or just general aura of poverty that glued him to the Weasley clan. Not that he particularly put in effort to be his own individual person, but still. Above all, in the eyes of society, he couldn't be kept apart from his twin, Fred. This had never bothered him before. In fact, he had always been delighted to spend time with his twin. Nobody, even their own mother, could tell them apart, which allowed them to craft some serious mischief. They had never had identity crisises because they were the same person, merely housed into two separate vessels. It was proof that their bodily vessels resembled each other perfectly, down to every last freckle.

And the twins knew every single last freckle of one another's bodies.

But recently, their relationship had been going through the rocks. They had been having a lot of disagreements about their joke shop, like never before. And the year before, at the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament, they had been extremely competitive trying to get in. Only after serious bribing was George able to convince Fred to share his stolen vial of Aging Potion. Alas, their attempt failed, and they were only lucky that it was Dumbledore who caught them trying to break into the Goblet of Fire.

In total honesty, Fred was actually really starting to piss him off. The problem was that he couldn't break it off with him as a brother, because that would ruin their reputation and make family dinner rather awkward.

Instead, George had been with-holding sex from Fred. Yes, the pair was the most famous case of twincest that Hogwarts had ever seen. Their dormitory mates had long-ago accepted the fact that one would occasionally crawl into the other's bed in the middle of the night, and the sounds of their passionate lovemaking would echo throughout the chamber. This had happened most often on cold winter nights. While the snow would fall outside, there would be heat in their shared four-poster bed as they pounded into one another. They would know exactly how to handle one another, because it would be just like if they handled themselves.

It's said that twins feel each other's pain and pleasure. That was definitely true for Fred and George. When they came together, their climax would be amplified times two, since they would experience each other's coming as well as their own. Ever since their first year at Hogwarts, when they had experienced their first erections while looking at each other in the showers, their love had extended far beyond that of brothers.

But recently, that love had dwindled. It still hurt to think about it, but George still remembered the first time that Fred had rejected him, last winter…

The comforter on his bed was too hot and he kept rolling around; he was unable to fall asleep. Just thinking about the way that Victor Krum had looked in his furry outfit that night made George rise. Added the warmth of the room and the way his hand-me-down silk pajamas felt against his skin, he was soon the proud owner of a mountain growing against his pants. George decided that there was one reliable way to take out his frustrations. Unlike his dormitory mates, he had long-since stopped jacking off in the middle of the night, Instead, he would merely clamber into Fred's bunk. Sometimes they would be at it for hours and would spend all of their class time the next day sleeping; they would be so exhausted. Other times, if Fred wasn't feeling too into it, Fred would quickly pleasure George with his mouth, then send him back to bed with a spank. The same went for George if Fred needed to deal with his frustrations. There was an unspoken rule that a twin's pleasure was a greater aim than your personal feelings.

That night, George snuck out of his four-poster, careful not to knock into anything with his large rocket. He gently shook Fred awake, murmuring very dirty things in his ear. He slid his hand down Fred's pants and started stroking Fred's member.

Fred pushed him away and told him to bugger off.

George paused, and the tried again. Sometimes Fred would do this if he had been having a bad day, but his resistance wasn't something that a little pouty-faced coaxing couldn't fix. "C'mon, mate," he said, reaching for the front of Fred's pants again. "You know you want to." Fred flung George's arm away again.

"No, I don't. I don't want to, George. Fuck off."

"Fred, what's wrong?' George asked, sitting down, still stroking himself.

"George. Nothing's wrong. I just don't want to tonight."

"Rubbish. You always want to. Need I remind you all the times you've begged me to fuck you?"

"Well, there's a first for everything, isn't there? Get out of my bed." Fred flung back the covers and rolled over, facing away from George.

George sat there, by the side of Fred's bed, for the next few minutes. It seemed like hours. He was incredibly hurt by this rejection, and couldn't stop himself from hoping that Fred was teasing him. But Fred wasn't.

When Fred slid into George's bed a few nights later, George gave him the cold shoulder Fred had given him before. Fred went back to his bed without another word.

For the next few months there hadn't been any action between the two, until finally, in vengeance for a fight they had had, George slept with Angelina Johnson.

Angelina was a beautiful girl, and George genuinely did like her, but their sex didn't give him anywhere near the level of satisfaction that he always experienced with Fred. The other boys in the dormitory congratulated George on getting into Angelina's knickers. If they thought anything of the sudden hostility between the two brothers, they didn't mention it. But George knew that the whole while he had been fucking Angelina, Fred had been in the next bed, seething in jealousy. He couldn't even call what had occurred between him and Angelina 'lovemaking'. He did like her, truly, but there was none of the emotional connection he would encounter with Fred there. Deep down, below his trickery and jesting, he really was an empathetic lad, and regretted doing it almost the moment after he came within her. George knew it wasn't fair to either of them, and apologized to both. Angelina for using her to make Fred jealous, and to Fred for hurting him the way he had. Fred forgave him immediately, and they had passionate makeup sex to rekindle their romance.

However, they barely touched one another during the summer. Nights previously filled with the sounds of wet thrusting and screams of pleasure were barren and awkward, and they wouldn't speak to each other for days, except when comparing notes on their merchandise. George realized that the only thing keeping them together at that point was the joke shop, and they had Harry to thank for that. If he hadn't provided the financial assistance that he had, their shop, not to mention their relationship, would have been completely ruined.

But this year, his final year at Hogwarts, things would change. He would get back together with Angelina if things with Fred didn't work out. But even if things didn't end up well for them in the love department, they could still make it as brothers, right? Or at least as business partners? Whatever happened, George decided to make this last year his best. He would get up to all the tomfoolery he could, before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named really established himself, and spoiled all the fun.

All these bad memories and thoughts were giving him a headache, George realized, striding down the corridor and scaring first-years by throwing Fanged Frisbees at them. They were giving him frustrations. Of the sexual kind.

Since he didn't have Fred to help relieve them, at least not at the moment, he was a bit stuck. There was only one other option he could think of at the moment.

Now, where was that cat?


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually, George found the object of his desire hiding in a suit of armor on the seventh floor. Peeves had probably stuck her in, poor dear. He rescued her from the helm and she came out meowing and scratching, sinking her claws into the front of his shirt.

"Shh," he quieted her, stroking her soft fur. "No tears. Just love."

George looked around to see if anybody was coming. When he was sure they were alone, he hoisted Mrs. Norris to his chest and held her firmly, scratching her behind the ears and assuring her in breathy whispers that everything would be alright. The unlikely pair journeyed down the hallway to find a quieter place to commence their business.

All of a sudden, Lee Jordan rounded a corner, catching George in the act of tickling her whiskers. He hesitated in greeting George, befuddled that George would be petting a cat that he had so often expressed his desire in kicking.

"Oi, George," he called out, his short dreadlocks bouncing as he came closer. "What trouble are you up to now with Filch's cat?"

George came up with an answer easily enough, keeping his calm. "Oh, just a little experimentation. I'll give Filch a new and improved cat for the start of the new school year. I'm sure he'll be pleased with her when I let her loose again."

A wide grin broke out on Jordan's face. "Well, let me be there when I can see the look on Filch's face, mate."

"I wouldn't let you miss it for the world," George assured him.

"I'm surprised you were able to get her all quiet-like and cooperative. Whenever I tried to pick the bitch up she would scratch me and go straight back to Filch."

"Ah, well, I used a simple Calming Spell. Not much to it."

Lee didn't notice, but anger pricked at George's features when he referred to Mrs. Norris as a 'bitch'. He didn't like anyone degrading his love, comparing her to a dog. Never mind that he had used that expression to describe her many hundreds of times; he had merely been protecting her. He knew that if word got out of what really went on behind closed doors, there would be a scandal. And not of the good kind, either.

"Alright, mate. Listen, I've got to do some work for McGonagall. Detention on the second day back; it's my new record! I'll see you 'round."

"Congratulations," George offered. He waved Jordan off and waited till he was sure his friend was gone. Yes, he was sure that even Lee wouldn't understand. For the last seven years, the school had seen nothing but very comical hatred between he and Mrs. Norris. His fellow students would think that the only reason for his interacting with the cat would be to irk Argus Filch in some way. And for much of time, that _had _been the extent of their relationship. But everything changed at the end of last year, when things had started getting difficult with Fred.

Last year, he had been sitting on the floor in a corner of a boy's bathroom. He and Fred had just had another fight, another pointless, heated fight about absolutely nothing. George hated it. George hated all of it, and he needed it to stop before he went insane.

But everything changed when Mrs. Norris walked in.

The cat strode into the bathroom, its head held high, basking in its own sense of power and self-importance. Something about the way the cat looked at him with disdain, while he lay there, his eyes wet and his world shattered, set him off.

"Come here, you damn cat!" he had snarled, lunging for the feline. The cat hissed and tried to make a getaway, but George was faster. He grappled with its grey torso till the cat finally submitted, yowling in apprehension.

"All the times you've fucked me over," he spat, hastily undoing his belt. "It's payback time, sweetheart." With one hand, he eventually succeeded in tearing off his belt and tugging down his zipper. He brought the cat over to the sink, balancing it so she was supported, her ass arched in the air. "You little cunt, you've gotten me in trouble with Filch countless times, haven't you? Fucking bitch, oh, you'll pay."

He shimmied down his undershorts so they came to rest at his knees, and out sprang still-soft cock. He gripped it with his free hand, massaging it so it would lengthen out to its whole glory. With slight curiosity, he examined the hole beneath Mrs. Norris' tail. "Damn, I can't kill you, can I? Filch would have my arse for it. Remember the last time you nearly died?" George thought about some sort of solution to the problem, and quickly came up with a resolution to the problem. His right hand let go of his cock, and he felt around in the back of his undone pants for his wand.

Smiling at his brilliance, he pointed it at the cat's arse and muttered the enlargement charm.

The cat screamed in agony, and George laughed. "Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he taunted, finally stopping the charm when the hole reached an appropriate size.

"Brace yourself, bitch," he warned, positioning his cock right up to the hole.

He grabbed the cat's hind legs, and thrust into her. Mrs. Norris screamed in pain, feeling his throbbing hot member penetrate her, but he paid her no mind. Her warm fur, rather than irritating him, felt so soft against his skin instead. Mrs. Norris cried out again and again throughout the pounding she took, but George didn't cease his actions until he finally spent his seed within her. With difficulty, he tugged his member out of her tiny, frail body. It took him a few moments to do so, since he was so big he she was so small.

Panting, he dropped the injured cat into the sink and backed up against the parallel wall. His mind was blank. He didn't know what was wrong with him.

"I…I just fucked a cat," he told himself. "I literally just fucked a cat."

George sank his head down into his hands. He pinched his forearm, wanting to make sure it wasn't a dream. Some fucked up dream. The cat dragged herself up to perch on the edge of the sink, glaring at him in judgment while her asshole bled profusely.

George burst into tears, hating himself. "Oh, God, WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!" he screamed. "WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND FUCKS A CAT?!"

George sobbed and rocked back and forth, his bare ass getting wet from the tile floor, which was conveniently located below a leaking sink.

"I… I'm completely insane," he convinced himself. "I am mentally ill and I FUCKED FILCH'S CAT!" He punched the wall behind him, and the tile shattered around his knuckles. He felt his hand break, and he screamed. The pain flooded his entire body.

His hand was now bleeding as much as the cat's backside was. George wept, and crawled to the cat on his elbows. Mrs. Norris stood above him, on the sink, looking down in what George was sure was hatred. "I'm so sorry… Oh God, I'm so sorry…" he cried.

Painfully, cradling his broken hand, he got up. He pushed himself up using the sink's rim, and got a few scratches from Mrs. Norris doing so.

George knew he had no choice. He was more of a parasite to society than those damn death Eaters were, and he had to be eradicated. He couldn't live with himself, knowing that he was more useless than Percy.

He knelt down next to a porcelain toilet, looking into its watery depths. Perhaps he could join Moaning Myrtle now, happily haunting the Hogwarts bathrooms for all eternity. But he would still have to see this damn cat, a reminder of what he had just done. It was better this way.

He smacked his head against the toilet edge. Not hard enough, though, because he felt disoriented. It was fitting to die like this, he thought, as he tried again. Die where society took shits. Everyone should really die like this, he thought.

He tried, again and again. Eventually he sopped seeing, but he could still feel the torrent of blood trickle down from the crown of his head. He screamed in fury, basking his own head in, but he just wouldn't die. How difficult was it to kill yourself like this?

How much pain would he have to endure before it ended, once and for all?

George would have kept going, too, until he succeeded. Except for one thing.

In a minute-long pause between bashes, he felt something unsteadily climb over the back of his legs. A soft tail flicked hesitantly at his ass. A meow resonated though the stall. The cat had come back. She unsurely rubbed herself against his thighs, and nuzzled her face into his skin.

George was in shock. Despite everything he had done to her, she still came back for him in his moment of need. The cat cared. The cat really, truly cared about him.

It took a while for him to see again. Finally, the darkness lifted, and her gorgeous grey body became visible again. Tentatively, gently, slowly, he began to pet her. Mrs. Norris meowed in pleasure, and hummed as he tickled her.

He laughed, joyfully, the happiest he had ever been. Despite his faults, the cat accepted him. He began to cry tears of light and happiness, and he picked the cat up, repeatedly kissing the top of its furry head.

"You are beautiful," he told the cat. "You are perfect. I love you".

From that day onward, George loved the cat like he had once loved Fred. Eventually, Mrs. Norris began to trust him. It took a long while, but she finally let him touch her like he had that day. George eagerly carried out the lovemaking, very gently, and it was as pleasurable as anything he had ever experienced with Fred.

George realized it, on the last day of his sixth year, right after the banquet in which Dumbledore had announced that Voldemort had returned. He loved her.

George loved Mrs. Norris, with all his heart. She was his sun, and goddess.

She was all he lived for, because she had given him a second chance at life.

It pained him that he had to keep it hidden, that he couldn't share the beauty of this wonderful thing with the world, but he knew others would condemn their love.

They would condemn it, even though they hadn't ever experienced love to the glorious golden rainbow of perfection that was theirs.

Who were they to judge, when they were loveless?

And now, George thought over that, stroking her head. "Come along, sweetheart," he murmured in her ear. "If you're up for it, Daddy wants to play".

With that, he took off down the corridor, fondling his love against his chest and looking ahead to the passionate encounter they experience, together.


	3. Chapter 3

Ten minutes later, George was cleaning up after a particularly rough romp between the two in a wayward broom closet. "Ah, Mrs. Norris, my love," he sang out to the feline, siphoning his cum off her arse with his wand. "If only I could spend the rest of my days in your godly presence. You are my sunshine, my seraph, my delight in this cruel world. For that, my sexually gifted housecat, I thank you."

George hummed a waltz as he proceeded to zip up his trousers. "Alright, love, 'tis time for me to embark to class. I wouldn't want to leave you, you know that, but I can't support us unless I finish school. Besides, if I had the misfortune to be late, I know how much it would pain you if you had to hand me over to Filch for tardiness. It's better this way," he assured the cat. "I will leave first, my dearest darling, so we won't rouse suspicion. Adieu, pussy!" he called to her melodiously.

But it troubled George to think that when he was gone, she would have to put up with the aggressive advances of a almost certainly drunken Argus Filch. The poor girl had been abused by him for years, and Filch didn't even try to hide it. George could remember multiple occasions from when he was younger, when he and Fred would be disciplined in Filch's dungeon office. The haggard old man would kick the cat and even spank her furry hindquarters, much to George's juvenile delight.

George supposed that the caretaker really did love Mrs. Norris, but he had a horrible way of showing it. Whenever George discovered a new mark the old man had inflicted upon his pussy cat, he became angry.

"Did he do this to you?" he would ask in frustration, although he already knew the answer. "I don't understand why you don't just leave him. He treats you like rubbish. Love, I'm sure we could arrange something… maybe hide you in my bed during the day? No… you're right, that would be too dangerous; someone could find out. We could always make you a nice cot at Hagrid's!... except for Fang. Agh, fuck."

"-Sorry!" he would say when he realized he had degraded his darling by using profanity with her. "I'm sorry dear. But when you hurt, I hurt. I can't help it."

Now, exiting the broom closet with a spring in his step, he whistled on his way to his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year. He received a few odd looks from fourth year Ravenclaws as he used his elbows to part their group, as they were blocking the hallway. However, he just winked in return, since surely nothing could spoil his wonderful mood.

Twenty minutes into his Dark Arts class, he realized this new instructor could do exactly that with acute professionalism, considering the fact that he had never met the bitch before. However, this woman irked his every nerve.

The moment the bell had rung, this new professor, whom George had singled out at the Start-of-Year Banquet for being particularly foul-looking, immediately went up to the board and scripted the words _Dolores Jane Umbridge _onto it with cheery gusto. All the letters had little curlicues at their ends, which annoyed him for really no reason other than his opinion that they looked incredibly stupid.

"What's that, a disease?" asked Lee Jordan, who had sat next to him in class ever since their first year, with Fred on his other side.

"Oh no, dear," the little toad-faced woman replied. "That is my _name, _dear. Now, class, say it with me. All together! _Dolores Jane Umbridge." _

Nobody in the class said anything; they all just stared at her in speculative amusement. This tiny, portly woman, who was dressed completely in garish pink tweed, had just spoken to her class of seventh years like they were all five. Even more unexpected was the fact that she had the highest voice he had ever heard, when by looking at her George had prepared to hear croaking.

"You've _got _to be kidding me," Lee said under his breath, staring at her in horror.

"I assure you that I do not _kid," _the woman replied pleasantly enough, but there was a malicious glint in her beady eyes.

The class just went downhill from there. This frog-faced cunt informed them that this year, they would not be using magic in this class. Instead, this would be a _'practical course', _in which they would simply study the textbooks instead.

"But what about the physical portion of our N.E.W.T.s?!" roared Fred in protestation. George said nothing, although he agreed with him.

"Children, if you have studied the material well enough, you will be able to complete the spell-casting portion to satisfactory results," she answered, obviously growing less and less patient by the moment. By the end of class every student had spoken out in favor of regular teaching, but their efforts heeded nothing.

"What is this Ministry-regulated, water-down shit?!" George cursed as soon as he could escape from the class. Just being in that room gave him a headache; it smelled of cheap old lady perfume and dead flowers, as well as cats. Nothing compared to the sweet stench of Mrs. Norris' fur, however. Fred and George happily spent over fifteen minutes verbally abusing the woman. They smiled at one another, hopeful that their relationship could maybe still be mended.

Unfortunately, things didn't end up working out so easily. George was already asleep that night when he felt a presence curl up next to him in his bed. With horror, he realized that it was Fred.

I've missed you," Fred mumbled, spooning him from behind. He rubbed up against George, and unwillingly, George's member lengthened.

"I've felt so empty, recently," Fred continued. "I couldn't sleep, just now, because I was remembering how good you used to feel, when you would hit just the right spot."

It was getting harder to concentrate on Fred's words, because now Fred was equally as hard as he was, and rubbing up against his backside, in soft, slow strokes.

"I was remembering how much I loved the feel of you, inside of me," Fred prompted, reaching over George's slim hips and grasping the front of his pajama pants. George gasped, as Fred began to tease it with his hand. "How _full _I felt when we were together. I felt _whole. _And I haven't in _such _a long time; you've been a naughty boy, making me wait…"

Fred slipped his hand down George's pajamas, and grasped his cock firmly.

"Yes, _my_, you've been a naughty boy," he growled in George's ear as his hand moved up and down. "I could always punish you, but perhaps an incentive would be better at this point…" Fred slipped beneath the covers before George even realized what was happening. Before he knew it, his pants had been pulled down to his knees and Fred had his mouthing sucking at his cock, circling the tip of it.

George couldn't help it; he moaned and threaded his fingers through Fred's wonderful red hair. "Oh, God, Fred. Merlin's beard, right there, _there…_"

Fred had had a lot of experience pleasuring George throughout the years, and knew exactly how to make him melt. Within a few minutes, George growled in an

animalistic fashion as he came in Fred's mouth. Fred drank down the salty warmness eagerly, and licked his lips when he came back up.

"Tastes as good as ever," he grinned, licking up George's lean chest.

Coming down from his high, George grabbed at Fred's supple buttocks.

"You are as talented as ever," George told his twin, reaching through his legs to massage his ballsack. "Your mouth can do wondrous things."

"If I can remember correctly, yours can too," Fred teased. "Unless you've lost all your skills in our time apart."

George looked playfully affronted, and slapped at Fred's ass in retaliation for that challenging remark. "I guess we'll have to see, won't we?" George winked at his twin as he, too, slithered beneath the sheets. In the darkness, he located Fred's cock and began gently massaging it. But for some reason, he felt the prick of guilt all of a sudden.

He tried to ignore it, but something about the way Fred's ass felt, clenched in his hand, reminded him of something. And then he remembered.

His head snapped up and he scuttled up from under the sheets. Fred, taken aback, asked "Oh? Am I being punished for not coming over here any sooner? You evil boy, you're going to keep me hard all night, won't you?!"

"No, I won't," George replied, defeated. "I can't do this."

"So you really have lost your skills? I'm disappointed in you, George."

"No, I mean that I've been seeing someone. I can't. I can't cheat on them."

"You're seeing someone. You can't cheat on them. Funny how that never came up as I was sucking you off, mate. Pleasure is more important than commitment, I gather?"

"No, you don't understand-"

"I understand plenty, George. I understand that you're a total arse. Since I can't expect any favors back, I'm going back to my bed to finish myself off. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. I can't stand the thought of you right now."

Fred rose and clambered over to his own bed.

George rolled over, regretting everything that had happened. He fell asleep with a heavy heart and a guilty conscience.


End file.
